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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530844">Confessions: A Journal Page in the Fade</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis1860/pseuds/artemis1860'>artemis1860</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:27:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,836</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis1860/pseuds/artemis1860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Pages of journal entries are commonly found in the fade, here one is combined with the story, the pieces fit together to fill in the gaps. An accounting of a mage's last moments the night the Circle of Ferelden fell to abominations. ((A one-shot what-if))</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Confessions: A Journal Page in the Fade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">Confessions: A Journal Page in the Fade</span>
  </strong>
</h1>
<p>
  
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<p>
  <em>               ‘Cries and infernal screams echoed off the walls, not unlike my worst nightmares, and yet this was nothing I could awake from.  No amount of pinching nor poking could bring my mind to bear, for this was reality now.  For now the shimmer of the barrier was holding, keeping all the terrors of my waking nightmares at bay, and keeping the barrier hold was the man in shimmering armor of a Templar.  Growing up I was taught that they were my guardians at best, and at worst my one-day executioners.  I feared them with a healthy respect all my life, and here one fights to keep my life whole.  His hands are shaking, his blade discarded some time ago.  I haven’t seen his shield for some time either.  I know he likely lost it in the fighting against these Abominations.  Yet still he stands, his armor is stained with blood and gore, he is unarmed save for what the lyrium has left him with, and still he stands fighting to keep me safe.’</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You think you’re safe back there?!” the blood mage on the other side of the barrier yells at the Templar and trapped circle mage, laughing.  “You think I can’t get to you, you <em>toothless</em> mabari!”</p>
<p>               The Templar, one Cullen Rutherford, tried to grin in spite of the sweat rolling down his brow.  “Make it through this and you’ll see how toothless I am, you coward.” He muttered, forcing himself to keep his mind, and his work, on the barrier that kept him and his charge safe.  He knew if the blood mage got through they were both screwed, he’d lost his weapon and shield in the battle and his companion was almost completely worn out.  She couldn’t summon a guiding light right now if she tried.  But he wasn’t about to let the thing before him know any of that.  He was determined to go down fighting, even if it meant to resorting to kicking another man in the balls just to feel like he got in a good hit before he went down.</p>
<p>               The girl had dark hair and bright eyes that probably sparkled on a normal day.  Though they had been dim since the attack had begun, for a brief moment they lit up in amusement as she heard Cullen’s words.  But a moment later that glimmer of hope was gone as she saw the bloodmage hold up what seemed to be a small vial of crimson liquid.  “My phylactery…” she whispered as she saw Cullen himself pale.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               <em>‘It was like seeing a death warrant signed by Andraste herself.  A blood mage was taunting us with my phylactery in his hands.  How he got it, I had no idea, but I could guess.  The circle had fallen, and though I thought Cullen and I were only one pair of many fighting our way through to survival, I suddenly realized we must be the last.  If this man could get his hands on my phylactery, then everyone else had to be dead… or worse.’</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>               The girl swallowed hard, her hand slipping into a pouch at her side where her spell book resided and withdrew a knife.  She wasn’t supposed to have it, and she had stashed it during her fight through the circle tower in case her magic would fail her and she needed insurance.  She removed the sheath and stared down at the shining blade, almost feeling Cullen’s gaze turn towards her.</p>
<p>               “Nyra.  Don’t do it.  You don’t need to.”</p>
<p>               Nyra looked up and saw the pleading look in his eyes.  He knew she hadn’t picked up the knife as a way to defend herself, she had picked it up in case the worst happened and she needed to end her own life before they could turn her into an abomination.  She couldn’t even look him in the eyes as she thought over her next move.  “I do.  If he can change me from out there… I could end up killing you.  I can’t risk it.  I won’t become an abomination.”  Her hands were shaking as she held the blade, and she found herself wondering if she could even do it.  Suicide had never been something on her mind, and she feared that her hands might not strike true.</p>
<p>               Yet as she wondered a shadow loomed over her, and it wasn’t just because the blood mage outside the shield had began to chant with the phylactery in his hands.  Cullen had stepped closer to her, kneeling before her as he swallowed hard.  “You’ve never been the type.” He said quietly, reaching out and putting a hand over the knife.</p>
<p>               “You can.” She whispered.  “You were trained to protect us… all of us… even if it means protecting us from ourselves by killing us… right?”  She lifted her eyes to look into his, tears spilling from their corners as she felt a pain begin at her core, fighting to keep from crying out.</p>
<p>               Cullen’s head spun as he turned to look at the blood mage, seeing the wicked smile on his face as the magic swirled around his hand and he realized he didn’t even have time to argue with Nyra.  He couldn’t tell her that he didn’t want to do this, how much he despised those moments when he was forced to kill a mage.  It felt like failure.  It felt like murder.  He turned back to the woman before him and knew the change would come on fast, and it would start soon.  She leaned forward, and before he knew it so did he.  One of his hands stayed on the blade, the other slipped behind her neck, his fingertips into her hair as their lips met.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               <em>‘How did we get here?  I was never a rule breaker.  There wasn’t some great affair that was carried on under the noses of our superiors.  When his lips met mine I think I was as shocked as he was.  Perhaps it was something we wanted, and maybe we both knew this was it.  There were words once, touches here and there.  But we never broke rules, we were never considered friends.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>               The first time I met Cullen Rutherford was after a Mage’s harrowing that had gone horribly wrong.  When they came out of the room, all of us holding our breath and waiting to see if our new brother would greet us, or if he wouldn’t, we instead saw the templars walk out with hanging heads and heavy hearts.  They looked defeated, none smiled.  I remember Cullen looked worse for it, his sword was still in his hand like the others, but unlike them there was blood.  I remember being quickly ushered away but as we passed I reached out and touched his fingers.  It was the briefest moment, but I think some part of me wanted him to know it was okay.  He did what he had to do, and maybe some of the others might fear him for it, but I could see the pain it caused him.  I just wanted him to know I saw him.  We didn’t even have time to exchange a glance, I’m not even sure if he knew it was me.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>               From then I think my eyes were always drawn towards him.  Even in full armor, most of his face covered by his helm, I could recognize those eyes in an instant.  At first I recognized them for their fire, their happiness, but over time the happiness dimmed and the fire remained.  It turned into something else, and sometimes they put a fear in me that chilled me to the bone.  I knew what he was doing.  He did what the others did, he steeled himself in case he had to do the unthinkable when it came to any of us.  I don’t know why he stuck out to me more than the others, but he did.  I felt like I was watching a star slowly die in the sky, something rare was dwindling away.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>               I made it my mission just to make sure he was… okay?  I suppose that is what I wanted.  If I saw him in the library I’d walk over and read to him parts of what I was reading, though he almost never responded to me.  The first time he couldn’t even hide the confusion on his face.  I almost laughed.  Sometimes I just tried to crack jokes within his hearing, though I’m fairly certain they were horrible.  It did make him crack a smile once though.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>               One of the other mages caught me at it once, she couldn’t stop teasing me.  She started asking me if I was sneaking off to closets to “tear at his armor like an animal”.  Those were her words.  I couldn’t roll my eyes hard enough to express how much I hated those words.  There were no closets, no secret meetings, no sneaking around, and no broken rules.  At worst the things I was doing only bent the rules slightly, if at all.  After a few months I didn’t think it was working, I felt I was being ignored.  But then one day I found myself crying.  I received a letter from home, my youngest brother was thrown from a horse and his head found a rock.  He never rose again.  I tried to hide my tears through my studies, hiding in a dark corner of the library as I felt myself failing.  I remember flinching as something touched my cheek and I turned to realize it was him.  His fingers touched my face, his thumb wiped away one of my tears and he simply said “I’m sorry.” And walked away.  I was stunned, yet oddly comforted, I was still grieving but also knew I had made a friend.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>               Our friendship never went beyond this.  A word or two here and there, a touch when no one looked.  But this was all… I’m not sure what led to what we did in my last moments.’</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>The touch of their lips was brief, gentle, and only hungry for a moment.  He still knew what he needed to do, even as his hand closed over the hilt of the knife and his fingers caressed her side.  His fingers found her ribs between thin cloth, and a moment later he felt the blood run between his fingers.</p>
<p>              </p>
<p>               <em>‘The steel was cold, but the pain fleeting.  If I had had time to think about it, I might have realized how good he was at his work as he pierced my heart quickly.  But I never even felt my own blood, pain did not lay me into the dark, but his lips led me there.’</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>It would be still hours more before the Hero of Ferelden found the Templar Cullen Rutherford, an anger and a darkness having settled in his mind from the falling of the circle, and the loss of little things held dear, oft never missed until they were gone.</p>
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